


What's In A Name

by BrilliantLady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Post-Deathly Hallows, Pregnancy, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Society, Wizarding Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4389149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantLady/pseuds/BrilliantLady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bittersweet glimpse into the life of Hermione and Ron as they expect their first child and argue over traditional wizarding versus Muggle customs in regards to pregnancy and childrearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's In A Name

 Hermione bent over the scarred oak planks of her dining room table as she adjusted the flame on a Bunsen burner. A miniature silver cauldron rested on a tripod above the stark blue flame. The juxtaposition of the cauldron with the scientific equipment rather matched the rest of the décor in their flat, which was a patched together mixture of traditional wizarding decorations interspersed with modern appliances. There was the clock with multiple hands, and the old fashioned Wizarding Wireless radio in its dark wooden casing with enormous dials. There were also newer imports from the Muggle world like the collection of mobile phones on a desk next to a variety of materials like plastic wrap, and aluminium and gold foil. Hermione remained optimistic she’d be able to find a way to use a mobile, or at least carry it safely through an area of high magical intensity without it shorting out, if only she could find the right insulating material. Her father-in-law was keenly interested in the results of her experiments and constantly made suggestion for improvements. Some of them were even useful ideas.

 As Hermione added some crushed dried raspberry leaves to her brew and a gentle green vapour rose from the surface, she startled as she felt arms encircle her from behind. Ron rested his chin on her shoulder and grinned in response as she twisted to give him a chiding glare for the surprise.

 “What are you brewing?” he asked curiously. “I thought you were over needing the Mother’s Helper draught. Don’t tell me the morning sickness is back.” His hands shifted lower from her waist to cradle her swollen belly, stroking it gently. Hermione smiled softly back at him.

 “A little bit. Not vomiting, but… the prenatal vitamins still make me feel kind of nauseous.”

 Ron looked puzzled. “I still don’t see why you need to take those. You eat fine already.” Hermione bit back a frustrated sigh as she explained to him, yet again, about blood tests, and iron levels, and the importance of folate for fetal development. His eyes glazed over halfway through, like usual. And he worried, as usual, about what the Muggle healers needed to take her blood for.

 “You know there’s lots of dark magic that needs blood for the ritual to work right. I know they’re just Muggles, but you know, someone could always confound them and steal your blood. It’s not natural, keeping it in a vial. Only dark wizards do stuff like that.”

 “Oh Ron, they don’t keep it they just test it and throw it away,” she explained, with the best patience she could muster. She did love him. She just wished sometimes that they didn’t need to have the same conversations over and over to get new concepts into his head.

 “Well, I still say they should vow to chuck it away.” Hermione gave a noncommittal “Uh huh” as she added the clover honey, oatstraw, and shredded nettle leaves to her brew and reduced the flame to set it to a gentle simmer, turning over the hourglass to time it for the next stage. “I saw my obstetrician again today,” she said, changing the subject. She groaned quietly as she stood up from the table and stretched out the stiff muscles in her back that were an inevitable consequence of being hunched over the table for too long.

 “So what did she say? How’s our baby doing? Did she listen with the steppyscope again?” Ron leant down and placed his ear on her belly in the optimistic hope of hearing something beyond the gurgles of her stomach. “Did she agree with Healer Fawley? You know you really should stop working. It’s not good for the baby.”

 “Ron, it’s fine for the baby if I work.” She rubbed tiredly at her forehead. “It’s only the second trimester; I’m not going to go into labour for ages, you know.” Ron turned his head to press the other ear on her belly, so he could look up at her while they talked.

 “Hermione, it’s for the magical development. Mum says the baby’s magic will be stronger if you spend more time around nature. You know, out in a park, or a forest, or a garden. Well, not _our_ garden. It’s too small. Not even big enough to attract gnomes. But mum says you’re welcome to visit home any time you like.” Seeing Hermione’s mutinous expression he quickly shifted strategies and adopted a wheedling tone. “She’s got some new spells to teach you, for the baby. So you know if it wakes in the night, and one for cleaning nappies. You’ll need to know those. I know you love the ‘What to Brew When You’re Expecting’ book, but mum says there’s charms you’ll need to know that are better than some potions.”

 Her expression remained mulish. “Don’t you mean _we’ll_ need to know those?”

 “Why would I need to know them? Umm….” He straightened up and looked wary as she stepped away from him. “Well, I suppose I could learn the nappy one,” he said in a conciliatory fashion. “Not much point learning the other one though. It’s not like I could feed a hungry baby back to sleep!” he laughed.

 “Why not?” she snapped.

 His eyes bugged out as he looked at her like she was a crazy woman. “Well I don’t have... you know… boobs, and stuff like uh, Polyjuice, well I don’t know if that would even work, and the ingredients are so expensive anyway,” he babbled, looking rather panicked.

 “Ron, I mean bottle feeding.” He looked at her with less panic but no more comprehension.

 “But Hermione, babies can’t drink from a bottle. It’d just spill all over them, and you know you shouldn’t give little babies cow or goat milk – it’s not as good for them,” he explained patiently and carefully.

 While Hermione finished up her brewing and bottled her Mother’s Helper potion, they bickered with varying degrees of politeness over the “unnatural” nature of plastic nipples on bottles, and eventually agreed that it was unnatural, but might sometimes be necessary. They debated the advantages and disadvantages of formula versus breastfeeding, with Ron stubbornly and insistently holding out against formula. Eventually they settled on Hermione expressing breastmilk if necessary for feeds while she was busy working, and the use of the Materlactimenti charm to make mother’s milk instead of using formula if her supply was insufficient. And they argued, yet again, about how long she should stay at home after the baby came, without resolution, unless you counted Ron’s assurance that she’d feel differently once the baby was born. His smugness on this point irritated her, but as the baby had indeed not been born yet, it was a difficult argument for her to counter in any way that persuaded him to her point of view. Luckily for Ron, that last argument was tabled for later with the happy interruption of their baby stirring and restlessly kicking at Hermione’s stomach.

 “Ron! It’s kicking again! Quick, come and feel,” she interjected into their argument. Happily dropping the debate for such a pleasant distraction, he pressed his hand firmly against her belly where she directed. “I hope you feel it this time, I had no idea waiting for the official ‘Quickening’ was going to take so long. I’ve been feeling it for over a month now.”

 An especially big kick brought a beaming smile to Ron’s face. “Was that it? I think I felt it!” Her smile and nod affirmed he wasn’t just imagining it this time. “Finally!” he said, and added in his best weighty formal tone, “Welcome to the Weasley family, my child. Child of this man, child of the gods, child of magic, your father awaits you with love and joy. May Merlin watch over you as you grow in strength and magic, and join us in the world in the fullness of time as the gods will.”

 They smiled at each other as they embraced and kissed, previous arguments all forgotten, at least for the time being. It felt like they’d been waiting forever to reach this pregnancy milestone. Hermione had waited as patiently as she could for Ron to finally feel the baby moving; apparently her _own_ perception of its movement didn’t count. Perhaps those first few flutters were ambiguous, she’d agree with that, but she’d still been feeling it kick and stretch for weeks now. And Ron had flatly refused to discuss baby names, or purchase baby clothes or furniture, until he’d felt it move. She’d had little idea there were all kinds of rituals and beliefs that formed part of pureblood culture until she’d gotten her first taste of it when planning their wedding. Their “handfasting” ceremonial vows referenced pagan gods, goddesses, and Merlin, instead of the Christian god. The dowry requirements had turned out to be less misogynistic than she’d initially thought, but she still didn’t see why it was truly necessary to sacrifice a chicken. At least it didn’t go to waste; roast chicken was one of the dishes at their reception.

 Having a child seemed to be another liminal experience that brought out Ron’s traditional side. Certainly he didn’t bother with almost any of the other fascinating rituals and superstitions she’d been voraciously reading up on. He didn’t pray, or offer sacrifices of magic or food, and showed no interest at all in ritual circles or visiting any of the megaliths, somewhat to her disappointment. The arithmantic calculations involved in building the ancient stone circles were certainly fascinating, and tied together the disciplines of arithmancy and astronomy in a way she wished had been properly addressed at Hogwarts.

 All things considered, including her general disinterest in religion except as something interesting to study, she was happy to indulge her husband and in-laws in going along with this tradition.

 “So, we can decide on names now?” she asked, with eager anticipation.

 “Absolutely.”

 Hermione bustled over to one of their desks, the one covered in mobile phones, and retrieved a folder from a drawer full of files that any ordinary Muggle would be amazed could possibly fit in such a small space. Hermione knew it wasn’t technically legal but their small flat simply couldn’t fit all her books and notes without an extension charm or two; it was all for the greater good, really! Her father loved it and had convinced her to paint it dark blue. They called it her “TARDIS” desk, which had led her father into some fascinating conversations with Arthur about “Doctor Who” and a few evenings together watching old episodes he’d recorded on the VCR.

 “So, bearing in mind that the final decision of a boy’s name is up to you, as we agreed, I’ve done up a preliminary assessment of the most optimally advantageous girls names. Each sheet here has the name, with Weasley as the surname of course, and the calculations and notes are below that. They’ve been arithmantically calculated for the best power name numerological significance, and also for propitious soul and life path numbers. Of course we can’t be sure which options will be the best until we have the baby’s birth date and time to allow for astronomical influences…” She trailed off a little uncertainly as Ron didn’t reach happily for her folder of notes in the way she’d been hoping and expecting. He had an odd look on his face and wasn’t saying anything yet, but she’d become familiar with his looks over the past few years of marriage. He wasn’t wearing the glazed look of incomprehension or boredom, or the panicked look of being overwhelmed by data. No, this was one of his other faces. The look that said she was being rather stupid about something (by his standards), and he was trying to be patient about it. She usually saw that look when he was exasperated by her disinterest in Quidditch, or when she questioned a tradition that had nothing going for it but how long people had been doing it.

 “What? Do you just want me to summarize my top ten choices depending on which zodiac sign our baby’s born under?”

 “’Mione, honey. That’s really, well, it’s really great you’ve thought about that. But, you know, choosing a name, it should be well, a personal decision. You only worry about power names if you’re embarking on a career and you’re going to change your name for that, and yeah, all that arithmancy is good to check soul and life stuff, I guess. But, you do that _after_ you’ve picked a name. You get an Arithmancer to check it after you’ve picked it, and it’s great that you can do that for us. It’s awesome! But a name, it’s a personal thing. Which girls name do you love best, honey? I like Bilius or Hugo, for a boy.” He smiled hopefully at her.

 “I, well, Bilius, really?” she said, rather stunned.

 “Well, it’s my middle name, and it’s good for boys to have a tie to their father in their name. It’s also my uncle’s name, so it will be another good connection to the family there too,” he explained. “Hugo I just like. It’s a good, strong name. It means ‘intelligent’ in Latin, you know.”

 “I like Hugo better,” she said faintly.

 “It’s a great name!” he said happily. “You know, Hugo Macmillan captained the Cannons to victory in the League in 1892. So it’s bound to be a really lucky name for Quidditch, too. So yeah, I’m fine with going with Hugo. As long as the calculations aren’t too dire, of course. So what about for a girl, then?”

 As Hermione started rifling through her folder of names, he took it off her and put it down, taking her hands in his. “Honey, stop and think a moment. What name do you love? Not what name has good numbers. What name have you dreamt of? I know girls plan these things. I know _you_ will have planned and thought about this for ages, maybe years. So, when you’ve been lost in daydreams of having a little girl one day, what name did you give her? Close your eyes and picture our daughter with your heart.”

 Hermione took a deep calming breath, but she didn’t need to close her eyes. She already knew her favourite name. She’d picked it years ago, dreaming of a little girl who might one day be hers, if the boy she loved in secret would some day love her back. She dreamt of a little girl, smart as a button like her mother, sitting on her lap wrapped in a favourite rug, listening to her stories at night. She used to daydream about a little girl with dark brown bushy hair, her bright green eyes shining with happiness as her mother swung her up into the air, all three of their family laughing and spinning around in a field of flowers.

 “Rose. It was… always my favourite name. But I… I don’t know if it’s really suitable, any more.”

 “Why not?” he asked, smiling, as he cuddled her. “It’s a beautiful name. Lots of wizarding families use flower names for girls. Is there any family connection?”

 She thought of Lily, and of her godson little James Potter, and Ginny’s belly swelling with her and Harry’s second child. Maybe it would be a girl this time. A flower for their family. But not for her family, never hers now. But she could have the name, it could still be hers, if she wanted it.

 “No, no connection. I just like it. It’s… traditional,” she said, embarrassed at the vagueness. She wished she could rattle off an arithmantic formula proving it was the best name, but it’d been years since she’d done those calculations, and all she could remember was that the soul number predicted a girl who’d be insightful and idealistic. Anyway, the different surname would throw everything off.    

 She stroked her belly gently, soothing her child to settle its squirming. It wasn’t what she dreamt of long ago. Life didn’t always have you end up where you expected. And love, well, it wasn’t as easy to keep that flame burning as she’d imagined. But every couple argued, didn’t they? They just had to keep trying, keep working at it. It would all work out… in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> The “Materlactimenti” charm is from the fic “Master of Death” by esama.  
> Thanks to my beta readers Janelover1 and Starbys.


End file.
